The Little Match Boy
by fnur
Summary: "He simply wanted to warm himself," the people said. A retelling of Hans Christian Anderson's tale, set in the THG Universe. Written for the THG Fairytale Fic Challenge.


_Adapted from "The Little Match Girl" or "Den Lille Pige med Svovlstikkeme", Hans Christian Anderson (English translation by Jean Hersholt), written for the THG Fairytale Fic challenge at thgchallenges on tumblr. Huge thanks to wollaston and chelzie for their help!_

It was so terribly cold. A heavy snow was falling in District Twelve, and the coal-streaked sky was almost dark. Evening came on, the last evening of the year. In the cold and the gloom a poor young boy, bareheaded and barefoot, was walking through the frozen dirt roads. Of course when he had left his house he'd had worn cloth slippers on, but what good had they been? They were very big slippers, way too big for him, for they belonged to his father. The young boy had lost them running across the road, where two Peacekeeper vehicles had rattled by terribly fast. One slipper he'd not been able to find again, and a mean older boy had run off with the other, saying he could use it very well as a cradle some day when he had children of his own. And so the young boy walked on his naked feet, usually fair and pink but now quite red and blue with the cold. In an old bakery apron he carried several packages of matches, and he held a box of them in his hand. No one had bought any from him all day long, and no one had given him a cent.

Shivering with cold and hunger, he crept along, the young boy a picture of misery that formed in his mind. Perhaps one day in better times, he might find a bit of charcoal and spare paper and draw it. The snowflakes fell on his tousled fair hair, which hung in soft curls over his forehead. Lights were shining in all the windows, for it was New Year's Eve, and a wonderful smell of roast goose and wild game filled the air. A day of celebration for so many, even through the most meager of means, but there was nothing for him to look forward to tonight.

In an alley formed by an old coal warehouse called "The Hob", he found a wooden palette that was not too wet and sat down to draw up his little feet under him. He was getting colder and colder but did not dare to go home, for he had sold no matches, nor earned a single cent, and his mother would surely beat him. It was his mother who sent him out into the cold, harsh world tonight armed only with what she presumed easy enough for even "a stupid boy like him" to sell. Besides, it was cold at home except for the heat of the bakery ovens, and the boy was not allowed near them ever since he burned two precious loaves and was deemed "useless and in the way". His mother did not know that he burned the loaves on purpose to save the most beautiful girl he had ever seen from starving to death. But it was too little and too late, and when the Peacekeepers took the bodies of her and her family from their home two days later, he wept until he felt completely empty, as he did now.

His hands were almost dead with cold, now as blue as his eyes that one could see if he could bear to open them against the wind. Oh, how much one little match might warm him! Perhaps he could take one - only one for himself - from the bundle and rub it against the wall and warm his hands. He drew one out and struck it against the stone. What a crackling noise it made! How it sputtered and burned! It made a warm, bright flame, like a little candle; as he held his hands over the glow, it gave a strange light! It really seemed to the young boy as if he were sitting before a great, lush meadow with the sun shining upon him. The sky was blue and warm, not like the gray skies filled with coal dust that greeted him every morning. How wonderfully the grass and dandelions swayed! How peaceful it was! The youngster stretched out his feet to warm them too and felt her presence by his side. He turned to see her face, but the little flame went out, the meadow vanished, and he had only the remains of the burnt match in his hand.

He struck another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and when the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a thin veil, and he could see through it into a room. He saw a table with a snow-white cloth spread, holding a meal fit for the Capitol. The roast venison steamed gloriously, stuffed with apples and prunes. And what was still better, a beautiful dark-haired girl with two braids filled a plate and brought it towards him with a shy smile. She was healthy again, and no longer starving. She was looking right at him, her eyes filled with life and gratitude and friendship. Then the match went out, and he could see only the thick, cold wall.

He lit another match. Then there she was, the his beloved dark-haired girl was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was much larger and much more wonderous than the one he had seen last Christmas through the glass door at the mayor's home. Thousands of candles burned on the green branches, and colored glass balls reflected her face, and even his. The little boy reached both his hands toward her. Then the match went out. But the Christmas lights mounted higher. He saw them now as bright stars in the sky. One of them fell down, forming a long line of fire.

"Now someone is dying," thought the little boy, for his dear father, the only person who had loved him and who was now dead, had told him that when a star fell down, a soul went up to God.

He rubbed another match against the wall. It became bright again, and in the glow the beautiful dark-haired girl stood before him, clear and shining, kind and lovely.

"Katniss!" cried the boy. "Oh, take me with you! I know you will disappear when the match is burned out. You will vanish like you did in the warm meadow, the wonderful meal and the beautiful big Christmas tree! Please take me, wherever you go - I've only ever wanted to stay with you, always."

And he quickly struck the whole bundle of matches, for he wished to keep his love and her beauty with him. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than the orange glow of the setting sun. Katniss had never been so grand and beautiful. She took him in her arms for her beauty made him weak, and both of them flew in brightness and joy above the earth, very, very high until there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor fear - they were with God.

But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the little boy with blonde curls and red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little pathetic figure. The child sat there, stiff and cold on the frozen wood, holding the matches of which one bundle was almost burned. His mother was summoned but showed indifference to his death, except to lament the fact that he had wasted an entire bundle of matches on his own comfort.

"He simply wanted to warm himself," the people said to her. No one imagined what magical things he had seen, and how happily he had gone with his beautiful dark-haired girl into the bright New Year.


End file.
